Say Something
by thewordsthatweareneeding
Summary: Rachel has never exactly tried to hide her opinions or feelings. It's half the reason her relationship with Nico works; if she kept it to herself every time she was upset, they would never resolve anything. But what would it take to hurt her enough for Rachel to keep it to herself? Nico/Rachel
1. Chapter 1

Nico always loved that Rachel never failed to speak her mind. If he asked her opinion, she gave it. Often she gave it without him even asking. If she was happy he knew, if she was sad he knew, and if she was angry, she sure as hell _made sure_ he knew it.

If he went too far with a joke, she would clench her jaw or roll her eyes or tense her shoulders. If he did not catch on then, she would let out some snarky retort that made it clear he should have shut up about a minute sooner. He would fall silent for a minute or two and then she would be fine, shrugging it off and smiling and letting it drop, because she always understood that it did not matter.

If he took his temper out on her, she would raise her eyebrows or put her hands on her hips or scowl. If he did not stop then, she would assert calmly and firmly that he was being ridiculous, that she was sorry he had a bad day, but that it was not her fault. Sometimes he would sigh and force himself out of it and it would be okay. More often than not, he would frown and say something he did not mean and that was always dangerous. It was dangerous because sometimes Rachel would snap back at him and then they would yell and they would really fight, until one of them got frustrated enough to choose to walk away and cool down. Sometimes, though, Rachel would just look at him and say exactly the right thing or grab his hand and it would be okay, because she always understood that it did not matter.

If something he did were hurting her, she would purse her lips or cross her arms or shrug him off. More often than not, he would freeze and ask what was wrong and she would tell him. If he thought she was being ridiculous (and too often he did) he would laugh or say something inconsiderate and she would ball up her fists and tell him to forget it, and if he was feeling particularly obstinate he would scowl and they would fight. Usually he would listen, usually they talked about it, usually he would do (or not do) anything to keep from hurting her. She always forgave him, because she always understood that it did not matter.

So when one day she came in late, staying silent, shoulders slumped, he did not know what to make of it. In the dim lighting of the room he could see little beyond her silhouette, her hair pinned up, a sleek, form-fitting dress hugging her body, high heels bringing her to stand a couple of inches taller than usual. And he remembered; her art show had been that day. The show she had been looking forward to for months, the show she referred to as her first real showcase, the show she had asked him to attend. _The show he had promised to attend._

"Rachel," he whispered, reaching out to her, trying to offer some sort of an explanation. Because she would listen. She would listen. She would understand, as she always did.

But she would not even meet his eyes. She unpinned her hair, slipped off her high heels, changed into an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts to sleep in. All without so much as glancing at him. And when she crawled into bed beside him, she clung to the furthest corner of the side she had long since claimed as hers, staying out of his reach. He watched her for a long time, trying to ignore the heavy, hollow feeling in his stomach and the way he could not swallow properly. When her rigid posture relaxed and the weary sighs faded into even breathing, Nico rolled over onto his back and let out a huff of frustration. He did not know what to do, or how to make it up to her, or if she would even forgive him this time. Because while he'd forgotten about the art show, forgotten about how horrible it felt to disappoint someone you care so much about, Rachel had forgotten how much Nico depended on her to talk it over with him. Or maybe she had not. Maybe she had just misunderstood and let herself believe that to him, it did not matter.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Originally, this was meant to be a oneshot, but because a reviewer asked to continue it I added on. Sorry for the weird format, I tried to parallel the structure of the first chapter, but towards the end I diverged for the sake of achieving my purpose. Reviews are very much appreciated, FYI.**

Rachel always woke up before Nico. If she had class, she would crawl out of bed carefully, trying not to disturb him. She would get ready, eat a quick breakfast, and walk out the door before he so much as stirred. He would wake up to an empty bed minutes or hours later and roll around a bit before forcing himself to get up and start his day.

On the days that she did not have class, she would yawn and stretch and curl up closer to him, letting him wake up to her arm snaking around him or her fingers intertwining with his if she was feeling particularly affectionate or well rested. Nico would open his eyes slowly and mumble a drowsy "good morning," waking up fully when she laughed and kissed him in response.

If she woke up exhausted she would groan and turn over, burying her face in her pillow for another minute or two before getting up and out of bed, grumbling the entire time. Nico would wake up when the bed shifted and either go back to sleep or lie on his back and watch her as she moved about the room, making the occasional comment or witty remark when she spoke to him. Once he mustered up the energy to arise as well, he would stumble out of bed and sneak up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and planting a kiss on the top of her head or her cheek or the crook of her neck, depending on how tired he was.

If for some reason, Nico had an obligation that forced him to wake up before her, he would drag her up with him. The second his alarm went off he would let out a grunt and turn over, pulling her against him and muttering his complaints into her ear. She would wake up to his warm breath on her ear and shiver, either laughing or retorting, depending on how tired she was and how justified his complaints were. He would force himself up and she would go to the kitchen to make him breakfast, trying to soften the blow of having to be up and about so much earlier than he ever wanted to be.

Nico always hated waking up, but as he told her, he had found it a lot easier if he was waking up next to her. They rarely went to bed separately, both preferring to stay up late, both equally content with the routine they had fallen into. Which was why when Rachel woke up to find Nico's side of the bed empty and the smell of coffee wafting through the room, she didn't know what to make of it.

She slid her legs off the edge of the bed and stood up, walking cautiously and quietly towards the kitchen. She froze at the sight of Nico frying eggs, toast and coffee already sitting on the table. Nico had his back to her, but when he turned their eyes met and all at once Rachel was hit with all the feelings she tried to swallow the night before. She could feel the color drain from her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around herself, looking down and pretending she hadn't noticed the way Nico's face fell.

"I made breakfast," he said.

She nodded, but couldn't bring herself to say anything. She didn't trust herself to say anything._It doesn't matter,_ she told herself over and over and_ over_ again, but it did little to quell the sick feeling that hadn't left her stomach since the previous night when she had spent all night on her tiptoes, craning her neck as she searched the crowd for one person who had never appeared.

"About last night-"

"Don't," she stopped him before he could even start.

She wasn't going to talk about it. She didn't want to talk about it. Because for once, she didn't know what to say. _It's okay, Percy and Annabeth and everyone else showed up, even Apollo. It's okay, it's nothing I'm not used to, it's not like my parents showed up either. It's okay, I didn't even notice you weren't there. _It would all come out wrong. She didn't trust herself to keep her voice steady, to laugh and play it off, and she definitely didn't trust herself to talk about it honestly with him. Not something that made her feel so small and vulnerable and stupid.

"Rachel, you have to let me at least try to apologize for this," Nico said, frustration already seeping into his tone.

"You don't need to," she told him, too quickly and too quietly for it to sound anything less than defensive.

"Obviously I _do."_

At the look on his face, she steadied herself and tried again, speaking more softly. "You _don't_."

Nico let out an exasperated huff, turning off the stove and removing the pan, letting it clatter onto the counter. Then he turned to her again, arms folded across his chest, eyes holding equal parts anger and guilt.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I'm sorry that I forgot, and I'm sorry I'm shit at apologies, and I'm sorry I don't know how to make this better so can you just stop looking at me like that and tell me? _How do I make this better?"_

Rachel bit her lip and stared at him, breath caught in her throat, words caught on her tongue, thoughts caught in a tangled web of uncertainty.

Finally she looked away and said, "I can't- I can't expect you to always show up to every stupid thing I ask you to. You would've been bored anyway. It was just some dumb art show, there'll be plenty of other ones."

"No. Rachel, that was your first one. You've been looking forward to it forever. I should have been there with you."

"You shouldn't have to do anything you don't want-"

"I _wanted_ to be there with you. Even if I would have been bored, even if there will be other ones. I want to go to every gods damned dumb art show with you," his voice was low, as if he were angry with her, but his expression was so soft and sorry that it came across as more affectionate than anything else.

The two looked at each other for a long moment, Nico's mouth set in a thin line, his jaw clenched, eyebrows arching in concern. And Rachel, eyes wide and guarded, her expression blank.

And then her lip started to tremble. Her face softened and suddenly her eyes looked so sad, so hurt, that Nico stepped towards her without a second thought. His arms went around her and she buried her face in his chest, her voice breaking as she finally admitted, " I looked for you, the entire time I looked for you and you didn't show up. Do you have any idea how stupid I felt? How _alone_ I felt?"

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair, holding her firmly as her shoulders shook.

He held her until her ragged breathing was steady, until the coffee had gone cold, until she finally pried herself away. Without a word, she tiptoed up and kissed him.

Months later at her next art show, Nico showed up an hour early, suited up in a dress shirt and tie and everything. Wen she smiled and told him he really didn't have to come, he rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets, following her around and helping her set up.


End file.
